


Yield

by risotto



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Baked Goods, Baking, Drabble, M/M, Oikawa Tooru is in denial, Sugawara Koushi humors him, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is the fourth time this week that you’ve made cupcakes and it’s only Wednesday. Are you okay?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, HQ!! fandom! This is just a quick little thing I came up with, based on a Tumblr Ask Box prompt given to me by Anonymous. The chapters are (or will be) short but please enjoy!

“This is the fourth time this week that you’ve made cupcakes and it’s only Wednesday. Are you okay?”

A small box of cupcakes---dark chocolate with white vanilla bean and cream-cheese frosting and a single chocolate chip on top---had been left in Koushi’s shoe locker, and even though it lacked an attached card, he knew the sender’s identity.

“Mister Refreshing, you’re being awfully presumptuous,” Oikawa gasps when Koushi calls him a short while later. Oikawa has the nerve to sound put-upon, in that overly dramatic way he tends to be about everything.

“Right,” Koushi rolls his eyes and hums, “so you mean to say you  _ didn’t  _ make these for me?”

“Come now, do _ I _ look like the type that’ll bake cakes for someone and leave them in their locker?”

Koushi wonders if that’s some sort of trick question but decides against answering it in favor of a more effective approach. He bites into one of the cupcakes and lets out an exaggerated sound of approval. Not quite a moan, but close. “Oh, what a shame,” he smacks his lips together, “because---mm, mm,  _ mm _ \---these are not that bad.”

They’re delicious, actually. This batch is the best he’s had all week--moist, lightly spongy and sweet but not overpowering. Oikawa has a future in baking if this volleyball thing doesn’t work out for him, that’s for sure. Chances are, he already knows it.

It gets deathly quiet on the other end and Koushi can’t help but grin with triumph.

“Well, then, I best be going,” Oikawa huffs, after a moment. “Try not to eat too many of those cupcakes, Mister Refreshing. Wouldn’t want you getting all pudgy and slowing down on me.”

The next day, Koushi’s treated to his  _ fifth  _ batch of cupcakes. They’re mini-sized and black, with orange and white frosting.  _ Reduced fat and sugar-free, just in case _ , the attached card reads.


	2. Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a list of quote prompts, I picked: _"I remember everything"_ for this chapter. Please enjoy. And as always, please let me know what you think.

It’s no surprise to anyone that Oikawa Tooru’s hospital room is overcrowded with get-well flowers and gifts.

Enamored girls—and a few boys, he’s noticed—have been leaving him various tokens of affection since as long as he could remember, so a simple three-day hospital stay for a stubborn, recurring knee injury seems as good as any reason for the gifts to come in by the truckload.

It’s the morning of the second day when Iwaizumi Hajime comes to visit him, partly to drop off his missed assignments, and partly because he knows his childhood friend isn’t stingy with the cookies and candies his admirers have left behind.

“These look like shit.”

Tooru looks up from his notebook, eyebrows creased together, and sees the other boy looking at an opened box of cookies like one would a dissected frog. “That’s not very nice to say, Iwa-chan,” he chides him, “someone took a lot of care into making those for me, you know.”

“I know, but seriously. Look.” Iwa-chan hands the box over. It’s small and painted black and dotted with stars, planets, and spaceship stickers that likely glow in the dark. An obviously homemade rendition of the solar system, or something to that effect. Points for creativity, Tooru supposes. It’s a welcome change from the endless slew of Rilakkuma stuff so he’s willing to forgive the inclusion of Pluto among the planets.

The box is filled with about a dozen cookies. Aliens, painted with green frosting and sprinkled with black sugar. Obviously hand-made and hand-decorated.

And ugly. Very ugly.

Iwa-chan wasn’t lying—they’re _hideous_. Misshapen in most cases, the undersides dark and almost burnt in appearance. Half of the aliens are missing an eye or two.

Clearly, baking isn’t the sender’s forte.

“See?” Iwa-chan prompts him, his nose wrinkling when Tooru holds up one of the cookies and the poor alien’s left arm falls off. “Maybe that’s a warning sign.”

“You’re awful,” Tooru says, putting the cookie back into the pile with the others. Just in case.

Iwa-chan tilts his head. “Who sent the box?”

“Why do you want to know?” Tooru sneers. “So you can go and break their heart and shatter their dreams with your cutting words?”

“Because there’s no card attached, dumbass,” Iwa-chan drones, unbothered by Tooru’s dramatics, as always.

Sure enough, the box didn’t come with a card. At least, not one easily found. There’s one at the bottom, buried beneath the pile of ugly aliens. It was likely put there on purpose so Tooru could find it once he presumably wolfed down all those cookies.

_Who’s pudgy now?_

He expected the standard _Get Well Soon_ that he must have seen on at least a dozen cards already, or _Wishing You a Speedy Recovery_ , for a more formal flavor. _You’re Out of This World Oikawa-san_ , would have been more fitting (and ideal) but this? This is not at all what Tooru expected. Far from it.

Thoroughly vexed—and under the suspicion that it was his sender’s plan all along to vex him—Tooru exhales sharply through his nostrils.

“That bad, huh?” Iwa-chan reaches for the card but Tooru stuffs it back into the box and puts a lid on it before that can happen. “Who sent it?”

“No,” says Tooru, setting the box on the small table beside his bed. It’s the only thing he’s placed there—he tells himself it’s because it’s the closest horizontal space to him and not because he wants it readily at arm’s length. “It’s just—there’s no name on it,” he mutters.

It’s true. The card isn’t signed and there’s no name anywhere else on or inside the box.

Tooru doesn’t need one, though. He already knows who sent it.

 

\--

 

“Hello?”

“I remember everything.”

On the other end, Sugawara chuckles. It’s a soft yet clear sound that almost makes Tooru feel guilty for being (supposedly) upset enough to ring him up and use the most threatening voice he can muster. Almost.

“I’m not joking,” Tooru goes for another warning, “I really do remember everything. And one day, you’re going to look back on this...this _slight_...and you’re going to rue the day you even _suggested_ I’d be out of shape.”

Sugawara chuckles again. This time, it’s with a sigh—not quite the long-suffering type mothers tend to give but eerily close to it. “Hello to you too, Oikawa-san,” he says, calmly, “I take it that you got my gift?”

Tooru didn’t doubt it for a minute that it was Sugawara Koushi that sent him the alien box, but it’s nice to have confirmation. “‘Gift’ he says,” he grumbles, “I’m laid up in a hospital and he sends me _that_ , as if it’ll cheer me up.”

Sugawara falls quiet for a moment, before he speaks up again. “Did it?”

While Tooru won’t immediately agree that the box or the ugly cookies themselves made him want to dance or that they will make an otherwise dreadful hospital stay better by a longshot, but they are a nice change of pace from the norm. Different. Memorable.

Refreshing.

Sugawara set that question up nicely—and directly—for him but Tooru realizes. He decides to avoid it in the only way he knows how. “What do _you_ think?”

Sugawara considers that reply with a hum. “Guess I’ll have to work harder next time, then,” he says after a moment.

“Hard work won’t help you,” Tooru remarks. “You’re going to need some kind of a miracle, at this point.”

“Probably.” Sugawara laughs and at hearing that, Tooru feels the first urges of a smile—not a smirk—at his lips. It’s strange how easy they tend to come to him when he knows he can’t be seen by the Karasuno setter.

The conversation falls into a quiet lull by then, but it’s not awkward. Comfortable even, but it is too quiet. To the point where Tooru can hear the scritches of something like a pen against paper on Sugawara’s end.

Tooru turns his head on his pillow, his gaze flitting to the window. It’s dark out. No doubt Sugawara’s studying now; he’ll probably head to dinner with his folks as soon as he hangs up with him. Or maybe he’ll go and hang out with the captain of his team.

For some reason, that fills Tooru with a sense of dread. The smile drains from his face.

“What are you—”

“Oh, by the way—”

Tooru purses his lips as Sugawara chuckles. _Now_ the silence is awkward.

“Oops, sorry about that,” Sugawara says.

“It’s fine,” Tooru insists. What he has to say isn’t important anymore. “Go ahead, Mister Refreshing. What were you going to say?”

“I was just going to ask you how you were doing?”

Oh.

Tooru hadn’t expected that. This guy’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?

“I’m fine,” he replies, turning his gaze from the window to the wrap on his knee. “Nothing a few days’ rest won’t fix. They just wanted to make sure everything was fine because…”

Because it scared them, scared _him_ , how the pain reemerged during practice, without warning. It shouldn’t have happened so soon after he’d been given the okay before. Unless, of course, there was something the doctors had missed the first time around.

But Sugawara doesn’t need to worry his pretty little head about those details—and much more—no matter how much Tooru wants to spill them.

“...because, gosh, can you imagine the _uproar_ if I was benched? They’d probably have to cancel the tournaments until I can play again!”

“A travesty, that.” He can almost hear Sugawara’s eyes rolling in their sockets.

“Why Mister Refreshing,” Tooru teases, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about me.”

“I’m going to hang up on you.”

But Sugawara doesn’t. They chat on the phone for the next half hour or so, until Sugawara apologizes and tells him he has to go eat dinner with his family then return to his studies.

There’s no dread this time, so Tooru accepts that saying, “don’t think of me too much in the shower then.”

“I already don’t,” Sugawara quips, sing-song sweet.

Oh, so he’s quick, Tooru thinks, impressed. “Oh, and Mister Refreshing?”

“Mmhm?”

“Pluto’s no longer a planet.”

Pleased with himself, Tooru hangs up then slumps back in his bed. His eyes fall on the black box on his bedside table. After a long moment of staring blankly at it, and because he can’t help his curiosity, he reaches over for it and removes the lid.

The first cookie he grabs is one of the lucky ones. The alien still has all four limbs and both eyes. Still ugly, though. Tooru bites into it.

It’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, Pluto is a dwarf planet.


	3. Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote prompt for this chapter is, simply, "explain." 
> 
> Also, this chapter consists solely of text exchanges between our two adorable setters. So to avoid confusion and a formatting nightmare, Oikawa's texts are normal font whereas Suga's are in `this font`. Hope it's not screwy!

Mister Refreshing!

`Hi! Good morning!`

I’m bored! (；´Д｀) Entertain me!

`You do know what today is, don’t you?`

Saturday?

`...Aside from that. `

Is it your birthday? If it is, don’t expect anything! （｀＾´）ノ

`No, it’s not…`

Well, then I haven’t a clue. By the way, you’re being very vague. It’s ominous.

`Ominous? Ooookay.`

Yes. But anyway -- is today an important day for you?

`It’s an important day for third-years everywhere. College entrance exams are today!`

So why on earth are you texting me!

`Because I won’t hear the end of it if I don’t.`

Point taken. (ノ∀￣〃)

`You really didn’t know that about today? Are you still in Miyagi?`

I am. Where are you?

`In Tokyo.`

Oh.

`Don’t “oh” me. You should be down here taking the test and suffering with the rest of us! （●｀ε´●）`

I got scouted by several universities already, so I don’t have to take the exam. One less thing to cause wrinkles, I suppose. But everything makes sense now that you mention it.

`Oh? How so?`

Everyone’s gone!

`Lucky you.`

Says you. I’m all alone! （ー○ー）＝３

`And I’m in a waiting lobby with dozens of strangers that I don’t care to be around.`

Not a fan of crowds, are you?

`Not a fan of the smell of crowds.`

Σ(T□T) Mister Refreshing!

`(∗´꒳`)`

You’re awful!

`It’s something I picked up.`

I hope you don’t mean to imply it’s from me. (*｢･д･)｢

`If I do, then that would mean you admit to being a horrible influence.`

Yet another point taken.

`Anyway, I have to head inside. The line’s moving.`

Oh. Well. Have fun! ╭( ･ㅂ･)و

`Not going to wish me luck?`

Luck is for the ill-prepared.

`If that’s true, then that would mean you already believe I’d do well, then. Right?`

Go take your dumb exam, Sugawara.

 

-

 

`Hello!`

You seem chipper, Mister Refreshing. I take it things went well?

`I think I did OK.`

Just OK?

`This was just the Center Test. Final results come later, after I take the university’s unique exam.`

Oh. So when is the second test?

`In two weeks. Why?`

Just wondering!

 

-

 

`Explain.`

Hello to you too, Mister Refreshing. Do they not teach etiquette in Karasuno or something?

`Oikawa-san.`

You know we’re familiar enough already. But, is there something you’re trying to tell me?

`You know what this is about. `

Afraid I don’t! I’m far too busy these days, you see.

`Right. Yes. Far too busy baking and decorating extravagant cakes, for example.`

You make it sound like it’s such a big deal...

`You used sprinkles and fondue and lettering! `

It’s fondant.

`The fact that you know what I mean says it all.`

You don’t like it?

`I do!`

So then what’s the problem?

`I just think it’s…`

You already said it’s extravagant. Is that a bad thing?

`No!`

Then?

`I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t expect it. It looks like it took you forever and a day to make it. And for what? Just to wish me luck on my test? Weren’t you the one who said luck is for the ill-prepared?`

It was a small joke. I was trying to be tongue-in-cheek.

`I’m sorry. I know I sound ungrateful and angry and cranky, but I really am not. I’m just surprised because this is not the type of thing I’d expect to get. Ever.`

And why is that, Mister Refreshing?

`Guys like me don’t typically get things like that from guys like you.`

Then I suppose I’ll have to make you more extravagant cakes! ＼(o￣▽￣o)／

`Oh my god, don’t even! You don’t have to!`

I’m thinking tiers and rainbow cakes and gradient frosting. Maybe some figurines added to the top, you know? Give it some flair…

`Alright, alright! I get it!`

Are you sure? Because I can deliver them right to your doorstep. Or even to your school. Just in case you still doubt you deserve it.

`I’m very sure, Oikawa-san. `

Never thought you’d be threatened with cakes before, huh?

`Can’t say that I ever have, no.`

First time for everything!

`Right.`

Well, it’s getting late, and you need your rest for your exam, don’t you?

`Oh, you’re right. I didn’t even notice the time. Guess I was distracted.`

I tend to have that effect on people. (￣ー￣)

`Yeah, I was so busy watching a ShiNEE special on TV, I must have lost track of time!`

Σ(･口･) OMG You’re awful! （;﹏;)

 

-

 

`Thank you, Tooru.`

 

_(Message saved to archives.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I called it fondue for the longest time.


	4. Fasting

April comes and goes. Koushi does not hear from Oikawa. No more cheeky texts; no more random calls of him begging to be entertained. No surprise cupcakes in his shoe locker—once he receives his diploma, he’s forced to clear the locker out and change the nameplate for an incoming first-year.

Koushi isn’t surprised by any of this. They’ve gone to different schools in one of the world’s largest cities. Between moving and adjusting to life away from the simplicity of Miyagi, he’d be a fool to think anything everlasting would ever come from their banter and exchanges.

He keeps up with him from a distance, at first. Little snippettes from sports news about the exceptional freshman setter from Chuo University. Mentions on social media outlets. Rumors that have trickled down the gossip mill into random “oh by the ways” from Daichi—like Oikawa’s public argument with Ushijima Wakatoshi during one pre-season practice game—but nothing direct or substantial. 

Now that Koushi thinks about it, most of his dealings with Oikawa had always been with a certain amount of distance between them anyway. It’s only natural things ended up this way.

Koushi’s curiosity in the other boy’s life levels off after a while, and before he knows it, a year passes before he thinks about him again.

  
  


\--

  
  


Tanaka’s sister finds him a part-time job at her friend’s salon. He’s the receptionist and typically assists with menial tasks like cleaning and shampooing and mixing. It’s close to his apartment and the pay is decent and after so many months, he’s developed an appreciation for the profession even if he has no desire to pursue a career in the beauty industry.

Sugawara is skimming through the schedule book when he finds a slew of out-of-order schedulings and names and notes written in chicken scratch. He’s barely made a dent in fixing it thanks to the spring rush. Warmer weather means more clients and more clients means more dates for the other receptionists to make a disaster of the ledger. 

4:30 pm. O.T. *VIP*

Not unusual. The salon is pretty high-end; several of its stylists work in editorial and on television and film productions so it does get its fair share of influential people and celebrities alike. In their world, discretion is key.

And so is punctuality. Or lack thereof.

It’s almost a quarter til’ five when the salon door finally chimes and Koushi sings out a customary greeting while still scribbling notes into the ledger.

“Sorry I’m late, there was a delay on my line and I…”  The door shuts.  “Mister Refreshing?”

The last thing—and last person—Koushi expects to see standing at the front counter to the salon is Oikawa Tooru, Japanese national volleyball star and erstwhile model. He’s wearing a surgical mask that hides most of his face, but there’s no doubt about it: it’s him. Koushi could recognize those bedroom eyes anywhere.

Koushi’s jaw almost doesn’t move at first. “Oikawa-san?”

There’s a slight comfort knowing that Oikawa’s just as stunned to see him as he is. “I’m here for a wash, cut, and style with Akira,” Oikawa says without blinking. “It was for four-thirty?”

Oh, right. Koushi glances down at the ledger and notices the heavy line he’d accidentally scrawled across the very center of it. There’s some sort of irony here but he’s too stunned to even think of it right now.

“It’s almost five,” he blurts.

Oikawa leans against the counter and this close, Koushi can smell his faint designer cologne. He probably came straight from a photoshoot or something. “Oh, is it too late for me, then?”

The salon is poised to close at six thirty today, with Oikawa being among the last customers scheduled. Akira’s very particular with her cuts and tends to go over schedule. No wonder he’s her last of the day. 

“No, you’re fine,” Koushi reassures him and pretends he doesn’t see Oikawa’s eyes crinkling with a smile above his mask, “She’s getting set up, so let’s go get you shampooed and ready for her, okay?”

  
  


\--

  
  


Even though it’s been only a year, a lot has changed within Oikawa. At least, Koushi thinks so. He’s so reserved and quiet and subdued, he almost wants to ask him if everything’s okay.

So he does, in the roundabout way stylists do.

“Is the water temperature okay?” he asks, holding the hose in such a way that the stream of warm water doesn’t soak Oikawa completely.

Oikawa hums a pleasant little hum, settles his neck and shoulders more comfortably against the shampoo bowl, and closes his eyes. “Mm, a little warmer please?”

“Sure thing.” And Koushi complies. He dampens his hair, making sure not to miss any spots and to avoid spraying him on the face or in the ears. His movements are slow and deliberate. 

The typical client gets just a couple of minutes with him before they’re whisked off to the stylist. Since Akira still isn’t done with her last client, Koushi decides he’ll just let himself indulge in the moment and take a little longer with him. And why not—it’s only by freak chance that Oikawa’s even here.

Koushi turns the water off and moves onto the next step: cleansing, followed by conditioning. And as he mulls over which particular brand to go for—the one that smells like sweetness or the one that makes hair feel like silk through his fingers--he feels, rather than sees, Oikawa scooting up a bit more in his chair.

“I didn’t know you were a stylist,” says Oikawa.

“I’m not,” Koushi quips. The silk shampoo it is. “I’m just a receptionist. I help out around, that’s all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mister Refreshing,” Oikawa sighs out when Koushi’s fingers work the shampoo gently into his scalp, “you do good work. You might have a career in this.”

Koushi chuckles. Not because of the admittedly-funny mental image of him equipped with barber shears and a comb but, rather, the second sigh—a much longer and more appreciative one and likely involuntary—Oikawa lets out as Koushi begins massaging his scalp.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Koushi sing-songs, all half-smiles and self-satifaction, “I was thinking ma~ybe a career as a baker.”

There’s a sudden tension in Oikawa’s shoulders and jaw that anyone would be hard-pressed to deny. 

“I said you  _ might  _ have a career. I still wouldn’t quit your day job if I were you, Mister Refreshing.”

It’s good to know that not everything’s changed after all.

  
  


\--

  
  


About two hours later, Koushi’s sweeping up around the counter and preparing to close shop as Oikawa walks up to pay out. 

Koushi’s not sure what he expected. Oikawa’s haircut is perfect—the ends are sharp and even, the layers are defined and everything’s healthy and shiny-looking—yet he looks the same as he always does. Maybe that’s a testament to Akira’s skill. 

Or maybe Oikawa’s just that unfairly attractive.

“We hope to see you again soon, Oikawa-san,” Koushi says as he hands him his change, both ends of the bills held firmly between his fingers, his head bowed. 

The display of professionalism makes Oikawa’s face contort. Into a grin or a sneer, it’s hard to tell—he has the mask on again. “‘We’?”

Koushi straightens and shows him his grin. “The salon.”

“I don’t know,” Oikawa murmurs, nonchalant, “that sounds rather...distant, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Koushi agrees. “But it’s not as if it’s a lie.”

“Mm.” Oikawa looks pensive for a moment and then, just before he turns to leave, he leaves what appears to be a business card on the counter. 

Once Oikawa’s gone, Koushi scoops it up and realizes, belatedly, it’s Oikawa’s personal business card with a coupon for a Buy One Get One at a brand-new themed cafe attached to it. 

On the back is a note in Oikawa’s flowery handwriting.

_ This is only because I can tell you’ve been severely lacking in decent sweets for the past year! Honestly!  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit: this chapter was strictly self-indulgent. Things like hair washing are my absolute JAM. And Oikawa has the best hair (besides Asahi), so...
> 
> Sorry I didn't add a baked good (just the promise of some). I'll try to make up for it in future chapters. Feel free to yell at me here or on my Tumblr or Twitter accounts.

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~Not sure if this'll be the true end or if there will be a continuation.~~ **Update:** Looks like I decided to add something to this. Not only that, this might end up being a series after all! Funny, that.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment here or drop asks at my [Tumblr](http://milkcustard.tumblr.com) if interested.


End file.
